Loss Like No Other
by CowboySteel
Summary: It all just seemed so pitiless. What good did crying do?" Oneshot set after No Rest For the Wicked...done a million times i'm sure but i wanted a go. Sam's immediate reaction xxx Shortish and Spoilers for 3x16 xxx Angsty and weepie x


_Hello, these are my musings on Sam's saddened character following the death of his beloved sibling. So much angst it is unbelievable, but if it was me, i'd be angry. Grr!_

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**_I can't sleep  
Everything I ever knew  
Is a lie without you _**

**_I can't breathe  
When my heart is broke in two  
There's no beat  
Without you_**

**_You're not gone but you re not here  
At least that's the way it seems tonight  
If we can try to end these wars  
I know that we can make it right..._**

_I don't wanna fight by Westlife (not a very Dean-esque song but whateva, the lyrics are good.)_

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Sam cradled his brother's cold and empty body in his arms, the tears making effortless tracks down his weary face. It all just seemed so pitiless. What good did crying do? Had Dean cried? Sam wondered, but he soon stopped. Dean hadn't cried for long. He had done something about it.

Sam felt so useless. He couldn't help anyone and crying over Dean's lifeless body was just so…cold.

Sam had had a whole year to face this moment, but he had refused. Like a fool, he had promised to help Dean, promised a glimmer of hope but snatched it away again. He had let his brother die for him. And for that, he was selfish. He was so narcissistic and cruel, and he couldn't even see what was happening to his brother. He had understood, that was all.

But that wasn't enough and he knew it. He was all "What more can I do?" but he knew that in this life, there was more than one way to skin a cat.

He was a failure, and he had let his brother down. He was so insensitive, caring more for his loss rather than Dean's. He was a useless brother. He was crap, a dweeb really. With all that school, all that intelligence and what good did it do? He broke his brother's heart so he could go and learn, but what difference did it make? Was it ever any help?

He knew the answer and Sam hated himself. He should be dead, not Dean. Dean saved people, he wasn't so conceited and malevolent. He had sacrificed everything his whole life, while Sam just did what the hell he liked.

He laid his brother's body down, careful not to spill yet another drop of his now cold blood and moved to the corner. It wasn't right. How could he even bear to touch Dean's broken body? After all he had done for him, Sam did nothing. He clutched at his head, about to explode, every angry fibre of his being weaving with the guilt to form some warped tapestry of hate. He hadn't even glanced at poor Ruby. Was he really that selfish?

Even the tears were selfish. They weren't tears for Dean, they were tears because he had lost Dean. He hadn't cradled his body to comfort Dean, he had cradled it in the hope of finding some warmth there for himself. Even these angry thoughts weren't out of sorrow for Dean's death, they had sprung from Sam's own stupid self-pity, his need for redemption. Redemption that he would never get until Dean was back. If that could even happen…

He sank into the corner, curling away from the outside world, desperate to be consumed by darkness and oblivion. Everything was wrong. Dean was dead. He gulped, the word alone making him shudder. Dean and death just shouldn't ever meet in the same sentence. Dean was a fighter and would always be there, forever. He was Sam's hero.

_Me again. I want him back for me…_

Sam stared with blank eyes, pins and needles shooting up his legs and he clutched them tighter to his body, creeping into the foetal position that offered so much solace.

His blood ran cold, but he could feel the smouldering embers of hatred burning up within him, the fire consuming him. He gritted his teeth, immense pain coursing through his veins. He was losing his struggle, and he just wanted to give in now. There was no point if Dean wasn't there, fighting by his side. Dean was dead, and the battle was over. It was lost.

People always said how time was a healer, you had to learn how to live. But how? How did anyone get over a loss like his?

Was he expected to just get over it? Again, anger surged and Sam tensed, banging his head against the beige wall. The sense of injustice was growing within his stomach, attempting to fill the large hole created by the death of his brother. Nothing could help. When dad had died, Dean had been there. When mum had died, dad had been there. But now he had no-one. He had never been so alone.

Outside, the rain pattered heavily against the window, lashing against the glass. Life went on, didn't it? Nature just reiterated the fact.

_There was no life without Dean._

Dean was the sort of person that would forever leave an impact on your life, and once you met him, it was a glimpse of freedom, a glimpse of life as it should be lived. No-one, not even Sam, knew the true extent of Dean's sacrifice in life, just that it was great. His last act has been a sacrifice. To make Sam feel better.

He shouldn't be dead. Dean should be sat next him. He was just so…perfect. And now his bloodied corpse lay in the room, still and lifeless. Sam sat himself up, hands grasping his hair, each cell of his body impressed with the last desperation for his sibling, as he rocked himself backwards and forwards. Goosepimples stood up on his tan arms as he shivered. Each movement reverberated with grief and misery.

Words just seemed so meaningless now. How could they possibly describe the emotions ablaze within him now? There was nothing that could ever do the heartache justice, nothing. It just hurt.

Sam choked as he stared at Dean, lying there, eyes dull and pale. The tears just kept flowing, and he couldn't stop them burning down his face. He wanted to forget everything, feel the oblivion, anything rather than this.

There he was again. Dean was dead, and most probably burning in hell, and Sammy just couldn't deal with the pain. He was such a heartless asshole.

Dean saved his life. And Sam had told him off for it. Bobby had given him hell too.

Sam winced at the phrase. Hell. Something he couldn't comprehend, something seemingly far off in the future, as Dean was experiencing it in the present.

So heartless, cruel, and so unfeeling, he never did deserve to have Dean as his older brother.

He crawled towards the body of his dead sibling, lying at his side, like when they were children playing Sleeping Lions to annoy their dad. The corners of Sam's mouth turned up a little as he thought of the conspiratorial tones as they plotted. John always played the angry dad, but the grin he wore when he watched his children was always more than evident.

Those were happier times when the boys were just children, carefree, before the Winchesters became warriors in some demon war. War was just a game and death was just a pretence after being stabbed by an imaginary sword.

Dean was just sleeping, pretending. Sam reached out, his long fingers brushing against Dean's cold hands. He grasped hold of his brother's hand, and squeezed it tightly, needing to feel near to him again, hoping desperately for some warmth to emanate from his body. He stroked Dean's rough hands with his thumb, soothing him, praying that he might come back with the heat of his own touch.

Alas, Dean remained still and unfeeling, his heart no longer beating, and his eyes no longer in that same boyish grin that made Sam smile, no matter what.

Those days were gone.

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_So..? What did you think? Do go to review now make me happy..._


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